The doors opened automatically when Prule pushed the right button. Three hundred and twelve young girls and two hundred and fourteen young men, all of them the cream of Earth's children and most of them mother-naked, peered out cautiously, furtively, into the gathering dusk. One made a move, then another. A rather brazen young woman, nude, walked right out into the center of the camp. And then they all emerged, wide-eyed and taut, looking for the Faktors.
"All gone," said Kunklin, waving his hands expressively. But since his suit was recharged and working, nobody saw him.
They did not see the Faktors either. They began to gather and talk with each other, some dangerously close to shock, some excitedly none the worse for wear. Most of the women were recovered so far as to return to modesty, began to search for covering.
This did not please Kunklin at all. He was tempted to push the button again and close all the doors, thereby making all clothing unavailable, but—after a thoughtful look at Prule—he let it go. It had been an extraordinary sight, a delectable sight, and his opinion of the virtues of Earth was skyrocketing.
Right then and there Kunklin decided the spot for his next vacation.
And now at last, as they watched, the men and the girls began to leave. It was growing dark and quite cold and they could not stay here. One by one, in varying degrees of undress, they strode off down the mountain. The sensation they created in Alford was nothing next to the sensation they created the next day, in newspapers the world over.
Kunklin watched them go with mixed torture and delight.
Prule brought him back to the next order of business.
"The Earthman," he said gloomily.
"Um?"